


Trials at Utgard

by Norickayer



Series: The Saga of Loki: Hero of Earth-616 [6]
Category: Loki: Agent of Asgard, Ultimate Spider-Man (Cartoon), Young Avengers
Genre: Adventure, Bechdel Test Pass, Crossover, Female Character of Color, Gen, Genderqueer Character, It'd have to be; there aren't any male characters in this really, Loki is sometimes a girl and never ever a guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 11:10:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2505647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Norickayer/pseuds/Norickayer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not that Ava isn’t happy that Spider-Man got invited to join the Avengers. She just wishes he’d shut up about it for five minutes. And why does everyone keep acting like Nova will be their leader after Peter leaves?<br/>The some weird sorcerer shows up, and suddenly she’s summoned to Asgard to answer for impersonating a member of the House of Odin. How come these things never happen to Nova?  If this is what being the leader gets you, then Ava- well. Ava’s still down for being the leader, actually.</p><p>OR</p><p>Loki and company must complete mighty acts to impress the master of the castle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trials at Utgard

America smiles at the kid’s jokes and proud boasts. She ruffles his hair when ze gets too close to her, she laughs when ze steals food off of her plate, and she never, ever hits zir.

Loki’s not jealous. Really. The kid deserves the attention, and more. Ze deserves summer nights and days spent playing with friends, and ze deserves milkshakes and breakfast meats and every other thing that Loki denied zir when she killed-

Well. You know.

“Ze reminds me of myself,” America confided to Loki once, leaning an elbow on her shoulder as they both watched the child-Loki chase after the CrowCams on a beach in Earth-8311.

“Loud and annoying?” Loki quips. Once, it would have been said with a frown, used as a knife to cut into America. Now, Loki’s voice is lighter, and belies affection rather than resentment.

“On zir own so young. Trying to live up to your hero with only your own strength and vision to guide you. Leaving home, knowing you can never go back.” America rarely speaks so openly about her past, and for once Loki is able to savor the moment of intimacy without immediately thinking of ways to gain the upper hand, to put this information to use.

It’s just a single stolen moment between Quests, but Loki holds onto it, adding it to her small collection, hoarding the feeling of comradery like small mammals hoard food for a long winter.

-

Ava Ayala crouches low to the floor of the SHIELD practice room. Her muscles bunch smoothly, her weight is expertly balanced. She watches the loping gait of the Life Model Decoy patiently, timing her leap perfectly so that-

A heavy weight crashes into her side, mid-jump. Instead of landing lightly on the shoulders of the LMD, she’s knocked to the floor by a missile made of flesh, metal, and plasma.

Ava throws her weight forward and lands in a roll, shoulder-first.  Her teammate, being able to fly, doesn’t even hit the ground.

“Watch where you’re flying!” Ava snarls in Nova’s direction. He spares her a glance, then returns to fighting how own Life Model Decoy.

“I wouldn’t have hit you if you were in position!” he yells back at her.

Ava is back on her feet in seconds. The LMD lunges for her, and she plants a hand on its shoulder and vaults over it, her weight pushing it to the ground.

“In position?” Ava repeats, incredulous. “All you said was ‘Ava you take that one!’” she pitches her voice a bit lower and dramatically points for emphasis. The robot under her body struggles to get up, so she bashes her heel into the connection between its head and body. Wires snap, plastic bends, and the LDM falls limp. “You’re _not_ the leader, Nova!”

A short distance away, Peter Parker makes short work of his own opponent, covering the entire frame of the LDM in synthetic spider silk. Around them, their teammates similarly make short work of the practice robots.

“Don’t let bucket-head get to you,” Spiderman tells her. “I’m not ditching you for the Avengers yet!”

This does nothing to reassure Ava. She’s tired of Sam trying to usurp authority. She’s tired of Peter’s constant reminders that he’s Avengers material (and the rest of them aren’t). She’s tired of thinking about how much the week without Peter reminds her of the time before Spiderman joined the team: the constant power struggle, Luke and Danny separating from the rest of them, Sam getting louder and more unhappy without Peter there to match him. She’s tired of not being good enough to fill the spider-shaped hole in their team.

“On the whole, sloppy.” The voice is broadcasted over the speaker system, but a moment later the metal reinforced doors open to admit the speaker anyway. Agent Phil Coulson is wearing the SHIELD jumpsuit today, not the looser business suit of Principal Coulson.  
“Teamwork means working in tandem, not just aimed in the same direction.” He pauses to survey the damage to the room- and to the superheroes. “White Tiger, are you alright?”

Ava lightly massages her right arm and nods. “It was a hard landing. I should be fine.” The fall wouldn’t have even bruised Luke. Sam didn’t even fall. Peter could have webbed himself to safety.

There was a time when Ava had all the confidence in the world. She was the best and brightest SHIELD recruit, and she knew it. She was strong, fast, skilled, and patient. She was going to rise up the ranks and be Director one day.

What happened to that feeling? It’s hard to feel strong standing next to Luke Cake. It’s hard to feel skilled with the Hero of K’un-Lun on your team. What’s agility and balance when you’ve got a teammate who can stick to walls? What’s speed, reflexes, and durability when Nova can fly? What good is leadership ability when Spidey earned a spot on the Avengers and you weren’t even considered second-in-command?

Coulson purses his lips. “All the same, have Medical check it out. The rest of you: endurance training in Sector Four.”

All five teenagers groan. The boys, because endurance training is tedious and exhausting. Ava, because she’d rather join them than be benched.

-

As expected, the staff in the Med Bay take one look at Ava’s arm and declare that she’ll be fine with some rest.

“Just don’t put any weight on it for the rest of the day, and tomorrow to be safe,” Agent Everest says, handing Ava the paperwork to excuse her from physical activity before shooing her out of the room.

Great. The Secret Government Agency equivalent of a doctor’s note to get her out of gym class. Wonderful.

Ava sighs to herself and begins the long walk back to her bedroom.

-

Ava used to have her own room on the Heli-carrier: a tiny closet-sized space with a cot, a desk, and a dresser. Then the Heli-carrier crashed into the Hudson and the team had to move in with Peter until the new one could be built. She’s glad for the experience. Living in close quarters in the Parker household prepared her for this: communal living.

The Tri-carrier was built quickly, on a budget. There’s only so much a flying aircraft carrier can hold, and rooms for junior SHIELD agents didn’t make the cut. Instead, she bunks in a dormitory with three other agents. They’re all young women in their early twenties. SHIELD probably tried to group them by age.

Some agents work in the Heli-Carrier (and now, the Tri-Carrier) year-round. Basic operations, some technical staff, the scientists in the labs. Others, like the field agents, are stationed there for a few weeks at a time. Field agents tend to get antsy.

Ava lives there year-round. Her roommates don’t.

This week there’s a scientist in bunk A here to consult on an artifact that could be of alien origin. Bunk B holds a field agent lying low after a high-profile mission to Latveria. Bunk C is Ava’s. Marilyn, the woman in bunk D is technical staff, here on a three-month cycle. She works nights, so Ava has to be very quiet in the room during the day, lest she wake.

Ava leans her face close to the door jam, allowing the scanners to recognize her. The door opens with a puff of recycled air. The florescent lights are off, which suggests that Marilyn is still asleep. Ava lets the door close behind her. She’s White Tiger. She wouldn’t be worth the name if she couldn’t navigate her own room in the dark.

She looks toward her bed. She knows where it is, of course, and can even see its outline now, as her eyes adjust to the darkness. Ava quietly pads across the room to the drawers set into the base of her bunk. She opens the bottom drawer and places her costume inside, then rolls onto the bed.

She should rest. She has to get up every day at 4:30am to make it off the Tri-Carrier in time for school. Additional sleep could only benefit her body.

Ava sits on the thin mattress and closes her eyes. Her thoughts buzz throughout her head. Marilyn. Peter. Avengers. Leadership. Worthiness. Homework.

She thrown on a set of civilian clothes and silently leaves the room.

The Tri-Carrier is a working space. It isn’t made for bored teenagers to walk around. There isn’t anywhere to go, unless she wants to interrupt someone’s work or disobey the doctor’s orders.

Ava is just about to split the difference and head for the cafeteria when she runs into Agent Coulson again.

“Ava. How’s the arm?” he asks with his constant polite smile firmly in place.

“Soft tissue damage. I’ll be fine by Wednesday,” Ava reports. When Sam or Peter are around, Ava doesn’t mind talking back to certain superiors, but they just seem to carry an atmosphere of insubordination around with them. Ava wouldn’t try it alone.

“Good to hear it.” Coulson pats her shoulder paternally. “Take some time to relax. Go hang out with your friends.” As he starts to walk away, he tosses back to her, “Enjoy being a teenager!”

It’s a good suggestion. Ava isn’t sure what she’d do in the cafeteria anyway. Read a book, maybe. Catch up on some homework? She doesn’t particularly want to be alone with her own thoughts right now, but what else can she do?

Her friends are her team, and they’re training without her.

-

Ava knocks on the door nervously, one hand clenched around the pound cake she bought on impulse on the way over.

The door opens.

“Ava? What a surprise! Peter’s out with friends, I’m afraid.” May Parker frowns for a moment, clearly thinking ‘ _I thought you’d be with him._ ’

“I’m not here for Peter,” Ava admits. “Actually… I’m here to talk to you.”

Wordlessly, May invites her inside.

She distracts Ava with polite smalltalk for several minutes- _would you like something to drink? How is school going? I haven’t seen you around recently?-_ before they are ready to delve into the purpose of Ava’s visit.

“What’s this about?” May finally asks, her long calloused fingers wrapped around a ceramic coffee mug.

“I’ve been feeling…” Ava cast about for the right word. _Aimless? Useless? Unworthy?_ “On shaky ground. I can’t get my footing.”

“You’re a smart girl, Ava,” May Parker tells her. “I wish Peter was as dedicated a student as you are.”

“Yeah.” Ava isn’t in the business of underestimating her skills. “But it feels like it isn’t enough. I feel like I’m not enough,” she realizes the truth of the statement as she says it.

May is silent. She studies Ava’s face, deciding what to say.

“I didn’t know who else to go to,” Ava says quietly, looking at her hands.

“Now I don’t know how helpful this will be,” May prefaces. “My advice doesn’t even always work for Peter, and he’s my flesh and blood.”

“But-?” Ava prompts. Any input is better than none, and who else is she going to ask? Coulson?

“But-“ May continues, “After Ben died, this house got so quiet and empty. Peter was gone more often than not. I think he felt the same way- like every room held ghosts of Ben. I felt so alone, so isolated. I had to get myself out. I promised myself I’d take every opportunity to get out, and I did. I went grocery shopping further away just so I could stay in the car longer. I took up hobbies: pilates, rock climbing, book clubs, parkour, knitting, anything that got me thinking and doing instead of just sitting around and remembering all day. I threw myself into new hobbies and experiences. I made a lot of friends along the way, but the point, for me, was learning how to be alone again. Do you see?”

Ava looks across the table at the older woman. Her course gray hair slightly styled, slightly windswept. Her pale face beginning to show signs of a life well lived: age spots, laugh-lines, crows feet branching out from her eyes. May Parker is the most vibrant, alive person Ava knows. She’s always on the go, always doing something new and exciting. She’s like the Indiana Jones of New York, minus the hat and the cultural imperialism.

“You do parkour?” Ava asks, dazed.

May Parker sighs and takes a sip of coffee.

-

The ringing doorbell saves May from having to salvage the situation.

There are three strangers standing on her doorstep: two young women and a child. The two women are either slightly older that her nephew or just uncommonly serious for their age. The youngest of the three is either tall for a twelve year old, or short for fourteen.

They’re looking for Peter.

“He’s out with his friends,” May tells them. “Are you friends from school?” she squints and tries to gauge their ages once more. The hooded sweatshirt on the darker woman makes May want to peg her age lower, but something about the eyes of the taller woman makes her want to estimate higher.

“No,” the taller woman tells her with a smile. “Your nephew helped me with a problem awhile back, and I owe him a favor.”

Ava listens silently from inside the house. The tone and pitch of the voice is unfamiliar, but something about the pacing and the way she pronounces words strikes a chord within Ava’s mind.

Ava shifts position so that she can just see the strangers around May’s body.

Dark hair. Green eyes. Green clothing. A familiar (and slightly sinister) air of self-assurance.

Ava has seen those characteristics on a toddler. She can certainly recognize them on a woman.

“If you’d like to leave your number I can have Peter call you when he gets back-” May offers.

“I’ll help you find him!” Ava is quick to interrupt. She tries to laugh and doesn’t exactly succeed. “He got away from me too, but I bet I know where the boys ran off to.” She needs to get the God of Mischief away from Peter’s aunt. Ava’s not exactly sure what May is to her- their relationship isn’t candid enough to be mentorship or close enough to be parental, but there’s something there.

She won’t let Loki hurt her.

“Ava-“ May says, surprised.

“Thanks for the advice Aunt May! See you later!” Ava calls as she brushes past her, leading the strangers away from the closest thing to a parent that Ava still has.

May is left standing there, front door slightly open, watching as four figures disappear down the street.

She shakes her head and closes the door. Teenagers!

-

 “So how did you meet Peter?” Ava asks the two strangers and probably-Loki.

The foursome walks slowly down the street. Two black birds fly is casual circles overhead.

“I asked him for help, he saved my daughter’s life, and we ate hotdogs,” probably-Loki answers.

(The kid looks deeply concerned. “You ate-“

“Hot dogs are made of pork or beef, not dogs,” the other woman reassures the kid. )

“And you are-?” probably-Loki asks Ava.

Ava weighs the risk of telling Loki her real name. She clearly knows who Peter is, though. Loki’s been in the school. It wouldn’t be hard for her to connect the dots.

“I’m Ava, a friend of Peter’s. Who are you supposed to be?”

“I’m Trixie,” probably-Loki says with a smile. Ava runs the name through her mind experimentally, looking for connections. Trixie. Tricksy.

Definitely Loki.

Ava pretends not to have made the connection. She looks away from ‘Trixie’, instead focusing on a crow landing on a bush nearby.

Ava surreptitiously moves her right hand to rest on her left wrist – where her SHIELD communicator is disguised as a watch. She presses a button, beginning to broadcast audio directly to the SHIELD Tri-Carrier.

“America,” the other girl- America- introduces. Not anyone Ava’s heard of.

“Like the country?” Ava asks.

“Like the continent,” America answers.

And the last one-

Ava looks at the kid. It’s not Loki’s MO to work with other people. Certainly not someone this young.

“Uh,” the kid says, looking to ‘Trixie’ and America for help.

“This is Narfi Lokison,” Trixie says. Ava hopes SHIELD got that. Even if it’s a lie, it’s an interesting choice. They can use that.

They’re in the middle of a residential street. Ava would prefer to put off fighting Loki for as long as possible. Asgardian battles always seem to have phenomenal amounts of property damage.

“You don’t seem old enough to have a kid,” Ava observes. Then she winces. If this isn’t Loki (it’s got to be Loki, right?), that was an incredibly rude thing to say.

“Looks aren’t everything,” Narfi mutters, looking around in interest.

It’s odd. In Ava’s experience, Loki is usually dramatically revealing himself, cackling loudly, and revealing his Evil Plan by now. This Loki is just walking sedately, ruffling the kid’s hair and dodging America’s half-hearted glares. A crow lands on her shoulder, making her look like a weird cross between a witch and a Disney princess.

Is it a trick? An imposter? Ava pauses. Trixie hasn’t claimed to be Loki, but it’s clear she could be.

Option 1: Trixie is Loki, and has a plan that requires more subtly than usual.

Option 2: Trixie is not Loki, but wants Ava to think that she is.

Option 3: Trixie is not Loki, and Ava is just reading too much into the familiar diction and green eyes. But Narfi is a Lokison, so that’s not likely, is it? Unless Trixie is Narfi’s sister or something, that might explain the eyes and the voice-

Ava gives up. She doesn’t have enough data yet. Explanations can wait for the SHIELD debrief. Right now she has to concentrate on keeping civilians safe and herself alive.

“Do you actually know where this guy is or are you just playing us?” America asks.

“He’s downtown at an arcade with Sam,” Ava says, in complete opposition to the facts.

“Uhuh.”

Trixie looks down at Narfi. The movement does nothing to dislodge the bird, who has apparently decided to stay. “That should be fun. You’ll like arcades, I think.”

“So, uh. Why are you two escorting an Asgardian kid around Manhattan, anyway?” Ava asks, unsure whether to expect an answer.

“Ze refused to stay home,” America answers.

Mid-step, Ava’s left foot starts to tingle. She barely has time to register this before her entire body is engulfed in green light. There’s a moment of confusion, and several seconds of what feels like brain freeze, before Ava realizes what has happened.

They aren’t in Manhattan anymore. The air is colder and more humid. The architecture is stone and spires, like a fantasy castle.

“Speaking of home,” Narfi breathes, confirming what Ava suspected: this is Asgard.

And if this is Asgard, then the angry old man standing before them must be Odin.

“Imposters,” his gruff voice proclaims, “impersonating a member of the House of Odin!”

America and Trixie step closer to Narfi, trying to form a barrier between Odin’s guards and the child. Ava does the opposite, stepping aside.

“Uh, I’m not really _with_ them-“

“Do you know the penalty for impersonating royalty of Asgard?” Odin thunders.

“I don’t remember,” Trixie admits casually. She looks toward America. “What do you think? Death?”

“Probably death,” America agrees, with more solemnity but no actual fear. Narfi trembles behind them, staring up into Odin’s one eye. The kid takes hold of Trixie’s sleeve for reassurance, and she looks down at zir in surprise.

When Trixie looks back up at Odin, her eyes are colder and more calculating.

“On what grounds do you deny Narfi?” she asks. “Has zir parent come forward to deny zir? What says Loki of Narfi’s parentage?”

Odin is silent a moment. It’s clear that Loki has said nothing on the subject. Probably, Ava thinks, because Loki avoids Asgard when not currently trying to take it over. It must be hard to get a statement from someone who usually just laughs and tries to kill you.

“A test, then,” Odin decides. “In the absence of Loki’s word, Narfi and zir companions will be tested to decide the truth of your claims.”

“What. The hell,” Ava deadpans. She did not sign up for this. Can’t she just leave these three here and go back home? Narfi looks over at her nervously. She looks back.

Right. Kid. Can’t leave a random kid with someone who might be a supervillain. Even if the kid might be the child of the supervillain?

They did not cover this in SHIELD training. Ava is going to lodge a complaint.

“A true descendant of the House of Odin will overcome these tasks with ease,” Odin assures the challengers, and also the crowd of Asgardians who have gathered behind them. “Should you complete them, you shall be welcomed into Asgard.” Odin pauses so that the crowd can applaud. “Should you fail, you face punishment for your crimes.” The crowd cheers even louder.

Oh great. The Asgardian equivalent of a gladiatorial ring. When Ava said she wanted something to do, this is _not_ what she meant.

-

The first task put to them is a competition of strength. An Asgardian man steps forward to challenge them. He has thick brown hair and a reddish beard. He’s decked out in leathers and metal, looking more like a Renn Faire actor than like Thor. It’s weird to think that Thor’s superhero costume borrows more from Earth than from Asgard.

“Tyr,” Narfi says, zir voice fond and a little sad.

“Which of the challengers will face me?” Tyr demands, wiping his hands on his pants.

America steps forward.

“Hold this.” She shrugs off her jacket and thrusts it into Trixie’s arms, not waiting for her to get a good grip. Even with peak-human strength, Ava wouldn’t want to face an Asgardian in one-on-one combat. Still, she isn’t about to make assumptions about this girl’s abilities. America is hanging out with Trixie and Narfi, after all.

Odin loudly declares the match has begun, and the other three challengers quickly retreat a safe distance.

Tyr sizes America up, and evidently decides to use his larger frame against her.

He rushes toward her, arms up, intending to grapple. America ducks to the side, but not fast enough. He grabs ahold of her bicep and pulls her along, dragging her to the ground with his momentum. He hits the ground first. America tries to take advantage, getting in a hit while he is on the ground beneath her. She rams her knees into his thighs, trying to prevent him from getting up. He shoves a hand up at her jaw, pushing her up and breaking her hold on him. He shifts his weight and they flip, America down on the ground.

She snarls wordlessly and begins shimmying her body up, knees bent, feet shuffling.

Tyr punches her in the jaw.

America’s head hits the ground with a thump. Ava makes an aborted lunge toward the fight, but- no. Interfering is probably the last thing she should do.

“This isn’t a fight to the death, right?” she asks Trixie.

Trixie’s eyes are fixed on America. She shakes her head. “No, not death. Then they’d have no one to punish, see?”

“This isn’t right,” Narfi mutters, subconsciously angling his body toward the crow perched atop Trixie’s shoulder. Ze glances up at it, and seems surprised for a moment at what ze sees.

Ava’s surprised, too. You’d think the bird would have flown away by now, even if Trixie has food hidden somewhere in her green coat.

America manages to get her knee up and presses it into Tyr’s stomach. He adjusts his grip on her and grits his teeth but- there! America manages to get the leverage to throw him off!

They’re on equal footing now, although America’s jaw is red and splotchy in a way that suggests she’ll soon have bruises there.

Tyr brings up his fists, and America mirrors him. She steps back, angling her body away from him. She look not unlike a boxer, but she clearly hasn’t been trained. For all America’s strength, her skill at fighting was developed through trial and error and watching others, not through devoted instruction.

She and Tyr circle one another, waiting for the other to make a move.

America lunges, catching Tyr with an elbow to the eye, but she doesn’t watch her footing, and Tyr, while blinded, manages to hook a foot around her ankle. Her root is broken, and she falls. He goes down with her in a controlled fall, landing with his forearm pressed horizontally against her neck.

“Do you yield?” Tyr demands.

America coughs, and struggles once. She makes no progress, and reluctantly, carefully, nods her head.

“The winner is Tyr of Asgard!” Odin announces. The gathered citizens cheer loudly and enthusiastically, thumping staves and feet against the cobblestones.

“This is all wrong,” the child says, undirected- as if talking to zirself or the bird.

“Yeah?” Ava asks. Ze looks surprised to hear her. Maybe ze’s not used to being taken seriously. Kids often aren’t, Ava finds.

Narfi nods. “The Tyr I knew couldn’t have done that. This isn’t his style at all.”

“You’re right,” Trixie says curiously. “That could have changed, though, from the Asgard you knew.”

Ava’s not sure how to make sense of that. ‘The Asgard Narfi knew’? If Narfi has been raised in Asgard, surely Odin would know zir parentage and they wouldn’t be forced to do all of this-

Ah, that’s it. ‘The Asgard Narfi knows.’ The Asgard of myth?

-

The second task is one of agility. A woman in heavy plate armor and leather breeches steps forward. Her smile is sharp and her eyes are cold as she asks which of the strangers will challenge her in a race through the practice fields of Asgard.

It’s more like an obstacle course than a race, Ava thinks, looking across the field full of great wooden targets, stone-lined sparring rings, scarecrow-like practice dummies, and of course the dozens of warriors who did not think that a potential royal heir was sufficient reason to stop sharpening their blades.

America is leaning heavily on Trixie, wiping blood from a cut above her brow before it drips into her eyes. Narfi- well, unless Asgardian children get their superpowers early, there isn’t much hope that Narfi will be able to join in the tasks.

Ava volunteers.

Her opponent’s name is Sif, apparently. Trixie and Narfi watch her with trepidation, but Ava doesn’t need anyone else to tell her that Sif is dangerous.

Odin barely has time to bellow “BEGIN” before the two women start sprinting.

- _pace yourself, dodge the sparring warriors, run along the track-_

Ava knows better than to turn to look at her opponent- she’s running fast enough that she could trip or run headlong into an obstacle if she shifts her attention- but she’s aware of Sif as a brown and tan blur to her left.

_-dash across the grass, hop the wooden barrier, adjust pace for running through gravel-_

This is so not fair. Ava is as fast as an Olympian runner while she uses her amulet, and while the civilian clothes she grabbed for her trip to the Parker house don’t have the aerodynamic advantage of her White Tiger costume, she enjoys a full range of motion. Still, that is apparently no match for an Asgardian in leather and metal.

- _swerve through the targets, duck under the arms of the practice dummies-_

She’s losing ground. She can see Sif clearly now, as more than just a blur in her peripheral vision. Ava’s not tiring, so why is she slowing down? The fence posts to her rights seem to be passing her more gradually than before.

Ava takes a moment to look beyond her immediate path, to the pole that represents the far end of the practice fields. She can do this.

Ava throws herself into running, putting on a burst of speed.

_-jump over a ditch, don’t let it slow you down-_

It’s not enough! Sif isn’t a blur to her left or a ponytail bouncing several feet away, she’s _a distant figure standing at the pole at the end of the practice field_!

Ava keeps pace, not willing to slow down or look back.

It really is Sif. The closer Ava gets, the more detail she sees. Same ponytail. Same metal armor. Same self-assured grin.

She slows to a stop at the pole. Odin is there, somehow (‘ _must be magic’_ , Ava thinks).

“The winner is Sif,” Odin declares, sounding smug, as if there was no question to who would win.

Ava’s stomach sinks. That’s two tasks down. What was the agreement, again? Would winning even one task help their case?

Now that she’s voluntarily involved herself in their cause, is there any chance Odin would believe that she isn’t part of this group?

-

“The third and final task is to be accomplished by the one who claims my blood,” Odin announces. Ava wonders if this man ever speaks normally. His voice is louder and more booming even than Thor’s. “Inside the castle is a powerful magical artifact: a Dagger of Twilight.” Ava can almost hear the capital letters.

Odin momentarily summons an illusion of the weapon. It’s over a foot long, and the blade is serrated and shiny black. Ava would think it was made of obsidian, except she doubts a magical weapon would be that fragile.

“You must be the first person to retrieve the Dagger of Twilight,” Odin continues. The illusion winks out. “If your opponent gets there first-“ Odin pauses, and a rather devious grin flashes across his face.

“And our opponent is-?” Ava prompts. It comes out much louder than she meant, and she winces a bit, hoping not to offend the alien royalty.

“Your opponent will be Thor.”

The crowd parts and there stands Thor: the Avenger. Thor: crown Prince of Asgard. Thor: God of Thunder.

He looks straight forward, completely ignoring Ava and the others.

Narfi steps forward resolutely, zir young face not fearful or resolute, but pinched in thought.

Ava hopes ze’s inherited some of Loki’s tricks, or else they really are in trouble.

“Is the challenger ready?” Odin asks.

Narfi is still, unhearing or trying to bide time.

Trixie steps past zir to stand before Odin.

“This task is for the child,” he tells her.

 “I’ll be Thor’s opponent,” Trixie says firmly.

“The challenger will be the one who claims Loki’s blood!” Odin booms.

“I’ll do that, too.”

Odin pauses at this. He frowns. “Very well.”

Thor doesn’t react at all.

There’s something very wrong about this, Ava thinks. The pieces refuse to connect in her mind, hints and feelings instead swirling in a mess of _wrong_.

-

This isn’t exactly a race, Loki thinks, prowling through familiar stone halls. It’s more like, what’s that game? Capture the flag.

This Asgard isn’t her own. Obviously. Her Asgard (if there is such a place) was destroyed three apocalypses ago. But this version still somehow manages to echo the Asgard of Loki’s childhood. That tapestry is just like the one she used to hide from Volstagg. This hallway should lead to the kitchens, where she and Thor sometimes managed to steal sweets from the cooks. Certain things are off, wrong: bare walls where there should be doors, turns that lead the wrong way. It’s as if someone’s taken the skin of her Asgard and stretched it over a completely different place.

She walks through an arched doorway that should lead to a larger hallway, but finds a small room instead.

She doesn’t have time to reminisce. She can’t be too distracted.

Even if Thor is slower and less clever than she is (and she considers everyone to be less clever than she is), he has the home court advantage. He knows these halls far better than she does. He knows from experience and memory, instead of relying on their resemblance to other halls several dimensions and years away.

But where to look? Where would Odin hide a dagger like that?

Obvious places: Odin’s quarters or the weapon’s vault.

Less obvious places: under the throne or in the dungeons.

Tricky places: hidden in plain sight. Illusioned as a different weapon or a decoration.

Trickier: hidden out of plain sight. Maybe some of those walls aren’t as blank as they seem. Maybe the dagger is hidden in a room that isn’t there.

This is their last chance. Two trials, lost. Can winning this one make a difference?

Where could the dagger be? _What would Odin do?_

Loki pauses. She’s gotten caught up in the game. She’s allowed someone else to write the rules, to dictate the story.

So they’ve lost two tasks. So what?

The real question is: _What would Loki do_?

Loki gazes around herself. This is Asgrard, slightly off. Ava’s race against Sif had the same sense of wrongness to it, as did America’s wrestling match against Tyr.

Loki would really like to know what the hell is going on here, please. In situations like these, she almost wishes she were a lie-detector like Verity. Almost.

Although actually-

“I don’t suppose Verity has stopped by today?” Loki asks the CrowCam perched on the shoulder of her coat. Having access to her friend’s truth-seeing powers would be fantastically useful right now. And Teddy _did_ say that Verity has taken to coming over and watching the monitors-

The bird cocks its head and blinks its beady eyes but doesn’t answer- the magical equivalent of a screensaver.

Great. No one’s home at the other end. Loki is on her own.

But that’s ok. She’s used to that.

Loki licks her lips and takes one last look down the corridor. She would really like to avoid this option, but if there’s no other choice-

She reaches into her coat and pulls out Gram, grasping the sword by the blade. It slices into her Aesir skin easily. Two trails of blood run down the blade.

Loki grits her teeth, but the physical pain is the least of her worries. Gram’s magic courses through her, burning away mental blocks, polite fictions and defense mechanisms alike.

Only the truth remains.

 _Truth_ : Loki is quietly terrified of what will happen when she brings Narfi back to their dimension. She’ll have to tell Thor who ze is. Thor will know what Loki has done. Will this be the last straw of Thor’s patience? Will it ruin the most positive relationship Loki has had with a family member in decades?

 _Truth_ : It grates on Loki that she has relationships she actually wants to maintain. She has to factor them into all of her plans and schemes, and she hates that. Loki is beholden only to Loki (but not anymore).

 _Truth_ : Loki suspects that people only love her when they think she is someone else: Thor thinks she is the child-Loki grown up. Billy and Teddy think she is a hero. Tommy thinks she is repentant. Verity thinks she is a good person. This is the real reason why she wanted America along on this Quest: Verity might see through Loki’s words, but America sees through her intentions. America has always known what Loki is.

 _Truth_ : For the first time she can remember, Loki _wants_ to be a good person. She wants to have friends and she wants to treat them well. She has no idea how to accomplish this. It sounds hard.

 _Truth_ : She is the Loki who killed the child. She may not be the Loki who set up the plot, but she is the Loki who triggered it. She is not the arsonist; she is the explosion. She is Ikol-from-before, and she is Loki-who-came-after, and they are not the same.

 _Truth_ : Loki’s identity is metaphysically complicated.

 _Truth_ : This is not Asgard.

Finally, _finally_ , Gram’s magic crashes against the illusion wrapped tightly around Loki’s mind. Gram’s magic, unsubtle and unyielding, slices through the tendrils of illusion all at once.

Loki releases Gram.

That’s quite enough honesty for one day.

She studies her surroundings. Then she smiles.

No. Actually, little more honesty might be in order.

-

‘ _This scavenger hunt or whatever is not a spectator sport’_ , Ava reflects. She adjusts her seat on the flagstones and claps her hands once against each other, then once against Narfi’s.

“Miss Sue, Miss Sue, Miss Sue from Alabama, her name is Susianna,” they sing together. Although Ava is distracted by her own anxiousness, Narfi trips up first, mis-timing the clap and hitting air instead of a hand.

“You’re getting good at that,” America notes, perhaps hoping that Narfi will decide that ze is good _enough_ at it now and stop repeating the same rhyme over and over and over.

Ava is the one playing with zir, and even she is getting sick of hearing it.

“ENOUGH!”

The voice rings through the courtyard. It rolls through the crowd like thunder, leaving Ava uncertain which direction it came from.

She doesn’t have to wonder long.

The crowd parts, and it’s Thor, returned from the task. He’s bleeding from a cut on his cheek, but his back is straight, his shoulders even, his head held high. He looks triumphant. Ava’s stomach churns. Trixie’s lost! Thor must have the dagger, and that means that they’ve lost all of their tasks and will be punished, Asgard-style!

Ava wonders what kind of justice system Asgard has. They’re a society of semi-immortals who fight with steel weaponry and still believe in monarchy. How likely is it that SHIELD’s alliance with Asgard can keep Ava from death row?

Thor approaches Odin at a walk. His eyes are drawn to the All-Father, but he also glances at Ava and the other challengers as he passes.

“This trial is a farce,” Thor announces, “and the dagger is not yours to have, Loki.”

Odin’s face twists in fury. He aims his staff in Thor’s direction.

“You _dare_ defy the All-Father-“ he begins.

It’s difficult for him to complete the sentence with a sword sticking through his chest.

Ava stares in horror. That’s Trixie standing behind him, gripping the sword. She suddenly remembers that she doesn’t know these people. She doesn’t know America or Narfi or Trixie, and doesn’t know why they were claiming a connection to Loki in the first place.

 _‘Oh god’,_ Ava thinks _, ‘I’m an accessory to regicide. They just assassinated the King of Asgard. Director Fury is going to kill me.’_

But the sword wound doesn’t bleed, and Thor isn’t upset by the attack on his father. In fact-

Ava’s sight blurs.

When it clears, the courtyard is gone. The Asgardian warriors are gone. Thor is still there, as are America and Narfi.

They’re in a museum. The lights are off, except for emergency exit signs that are plentiful enough to illuminate the scene:

Trixie, pulling the sword free from the chest of- Loki?

It’s not Odin standing before them anymore- it’s Loki: stupid golden helmet and slicked back hair and all.

“How?” he hisses, clutching his chest. There doesn’t seem to be any wound there at all, Ava notices. The cloth of his coat isn’t even harmed. Still, he’s curled in on himself as if in great pain.

“You’ve heard of Gram?” Trixie asks, hefting her sword high. “Sword of Truth? Once owned by Sigurd the Sometimes-Glorious?”

“The lady Trixie snuck up on me and wetted the sword with my blood,” Thor says, glancing wearily at Trixie. “It broke through your illusion and allowed me to see the truth. You were _using_ us to steal the dagger you sought.”

“Oh, very clever Thor,” Loki drawls, “I suppose even _you_ can overcome my tricks when you have a trickster of your own on your side.” He glares at Trixie, something like respect or fear in his eyes. Trixie gazes back, pity, anger, and amusement warring for a space in her eyes. It seems like the two have an entire conversation in that glance, and Ava can’t begin to decipher it.

“So the whole thing was an illusion. The fight, the race, everything?” Ava clarifies.

“It felt real to me,” America says, brushing her knuckles along her bruised cheek.

“No doubt you had Frost Giants or some other monster disguised as Aesir. Isn’t that right, Loki?” Thor asks.

Ava supposes that this makes sense. Loki’s done it before.

“Something like that,” Loki mutters, clearly annoyed at having even his villainous monologue taken from him.

“Thank you for your help,” Thor tells them, although Ava’s not sure how much they actually did to help, or how much of what they did Thor was even aware of. “And you, Trixie.” Thor pauses and looks at the shorter woman. “Thank you for freeing me of my brother’s spell. You are a credit to the line of Loki.”

“Always a pleasure, Thor,” Trixie replies, holding out her hand for a shake.

Thor hugs her instead.

_‘Wait, so Trixie really **is** related to Odin, then?’_

“Loki, you will face justice for what you have done,” Thor says solemnly, looking at his brother still kneeling on the floor.

“Oh I really doubt it,” he says, but makes no move to escape as Thor firmly takes ahold of his shoulders.

“Fare thee well,” Thor says to Ava and the others, before swinging Mjolnir and departing in a _CRASH_ and a shower of drywall.

“You’d think he could have done that outside,” Ava says, staring up at the hole in the ceiling.

“Thor’s the same in every universe,” Trixie says fondly.

“Not Loki, though,” America replies.

Ava’s not sure what that’s supposed to mean, only that Trixie looks down and Narfi, riffles zir hair and simply says,

“No. Not Loki.”

-

“Leaving so soon?”

Loki glances back at where the figure of an older Loki stands, smiling the familiar mocking smirk of all Lokis everywhere. She glances at her companions, but they don’t seem to notice the return of the Villian of the Week. America and Ava continue their stunted small talk, and Narf is out of sight- ze tries to avoid being alone with Loki when at all possible.

Sheds be more concerned about the other Loki’s presence, but the power of Gram is slow to fade from her blood, and she can still tell an illusion from the real thing.

“We can’t hang around to gloat forever,” Loki tells her other self. “I’ve got people to do and places to see.”

“Good. Get on with that,” the older Loki encourages, “And stay out of my schemes from now on.”

“Afraid of sharing your toys?” Loki asks, because honestly, this is the most clichéd, campy version of herself she’s ever found, and she can’t resist the taunt.

“Yes,” he answers simply. “Now leave me be, and I’ll forget all about the portal I saw your companion create last night.” He gestures toward America. Loki frowns.

She thought they’d been more subtle than that. From what she can tell, America’s portals leave energy traces to those who know how to track it.

They certainly don’t need an evil Loki following them home (or _beating_ them home).

So she bows dramatically, embellishing with a few rolls of her wrist and a curtsy. “We’ll be out of your hair posthaste.”

It’s not great hardship to agree to the deal. They were leaving anyway.

-

It takes her only a moment to find Narfi.  Ze’s a few steps back, gazing off into the distance- remembering zir own Asgard, perhaps.

“I could have done it,” ze says.

“Done what?” Ava asks.

Narfi turns to face the three of them. “I could have managed the task put to me.”

“It was rigged,” America reminds zir. “They were all rigged.”

Narfi frowns and says nothing, clearly still frustrated. Loki tries a different angle.

“It’s not your job.” She rests a hand on Narfi’s thin shoulder and quirks a smile. “That’s not why we picked you up, you know. You don’t have to be _useful_ to earn your place with us.”

The kid is going to complicate life just by existing. Ze’s going to be a reminder of what Loki really is, ze’s going to mess up Loki’s thing with Thor, ze’s going to _ruin_ -

 _‘It’s worth it. It’s worth it. It’s worth it,_ ’ Loki thinks to herself frantically, ‘ _It is. It has to be.’_

“Never trust Loki,” Narfi says distantly, as if reciting something ze heard once, “Everything he does, he does for his own reasons.”

“Probably true,” Loki admits, “but this time my reason is just you.”

Loki wonders if this is what Thor felt when he brought Loki back to life. To want a person to be able to live again, not because of what they can do for you, or even because you liked having them around. Wanting someone to live for their own sake, no matter what they decide to do with that life.

In the hours between Billy’s message and actually making contact with Narfi’s Asgard, Loki hadn’t had the time to fear or dread or plan for eventualities- only to throw together a disguise and try to get Narfi out before it was too late.

There’s finally time.

It makes Loki feel exposed, to have made such a big decision with so little insurance on the outcome. There is no plan, no scheme in place to ensure Loki comes out on top.

But Narfi’s life is worth the uncertainty. It has to be.

-

Ava makes her goodbyes quickly, and with little fanfare. Trixie, Narfi, and America were good to have at her side, calm minds in a crisis, but Ava still doesn’t know much about who they are, and she doesn’t trust them.

She’s careful and alert as she walks alone through the streets, but a part of her mind is far away.

Something Trixie said runs on repeat through her mind: ‘ _You don’t have to be useful to earn your place with us.’_

It’s different for Ava: her friends are a team sponsored by SHIELD. She has responsibilities, duties to her teammates and to SHIELD.

But then again… it’s not like Peter stopped being their friend when he left the team. They didn’t just stop caring when he didn’t work with them anymore.

Maybe it’s time she separated her work mentality from her social life.

Maybe she can belong and be a valuable member of the team without having to be the best.

_-_

“So are you going to keep ‘Narfi’, or was Loki just making shit up?” America asks the child.

“I wasn’t _making shit up_ ,” Loki sputters.

“I don’t know,” Narfi says thoughtfully, “But I suppose we can’t both be ‘Loki’ forever.”

“Narfi Lokison is a perfectly reasonable name-“ Loki begins.

“It’s self-involved. You’re a narcissist,” America tells her.

“It’s insurance, not vanity,” Loki argues. “Being a Lokison connects zir to me, and thus to Thor without making zir an Odinson. Ze can claim Thor as kin without being as vulnerable to the All-Father’s bullshit.”

“It’s a symbol,” the child realizes, “Loki-child-of-Loki.”

“ _Loki is beholden only to Loki_. But really, you have every right to your own name,” Loki tells the child. “‘Narfi’ is only one option. You get to choose who you are going to be from now on. That’s what this has _always_ been about.”

Dying, the bird, the child, the murder. All of it. What’s the point if this child is going to be a slave to fate?

“I’ll always be a Loki,” the child says slowly, considering each word, “but I think I’d like to be Narfi, too. I tried being the only Loki for a long time. It wasn’t much fun.”

“Being one of many can be worse,” Loki warns.

Narfi makes a face. “Well not if one of them is _him_ , of course.”

America stands slightly back, allowing the Lokis their conversation.

She rolls her eyes and looks at the second CrowCam, preening itself on her shoulder.

“One Loki was bad enough,” America confides to the camera. “Now there’s going to be two of them being all smug and ominous all the time.”

Despite her words, she seems excited about the prospect.

**Author's Note:**

> Trials at Utgard re-imagines the story of [Útgarða-Loki’s contests](http://www.loki-in-myth.tumblr.com/post/27641654785/utgar-a-lokis-contests). In the myth, the Loki of Utgard is of no relation to Thor’s companion Loki, but the symmetry was too much to resist.
> 
> This retelling takes the original story elements and remixes them with Marvel canon: _Loki and company must complete mighty acts to impress the master of the castle._
> 
> Feel free to write up a comment if you’ve gotten this far- otherwise I don’t know what’s working and what isn’t in these fics.


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